her right if I took her at her word, and took the other girl back
with me.'

He was walking up and down with his hands in his pockets, frowning
like a July thunderstorm.

'Wicked, heartless little--but there, thank God! all women aren't
like her. Who's this girl that she's tried to set me against?'

'I can't tell you,' says I.

'Oh! can't you, my girl? But you shall.'

And he catches hold of both my wrists in his hands.

'Leave me go!' I cried, 'you're hurting me.'

'Who is it?'

I was looking down my nose very straight, but when he said that, I
just lifted my eyes up and looked at him, and dropped them.

I've always practised looking like what I meant, or what I wanted
people to think I meant--sort of matching your looks and words, like
you match ribbon and a bit of stuff.

'So you're the girl, are you?' he cries. 'And she thought to put you
to shame before me with her messages? Look here, I'm well off. I'm
going to Liverpool to-night, and back to America next week. I want
to take a wife with me, and she says you have thought of me while